


you and me and all the pretty things in between

by sleepwellbeasts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, M/M, and of course i had to include shiratorizawa because that's my brand, goshiki and semi make very tiny cameos as well, i have to laugh because my friend just wanted some iwaoi, iwaizumi is a cop and oikawa is a lawyer, yahaba and kyoutani are a lil dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepwellbeasts/pseuds/sleepwellbeasts
Summary: “Okay, so,” Yahaba says, voice slow, “don't freak out, but we got arrested and we’re at the Sendai Police Station. I don’t really know what’s going to end up going down, but I think it’s a good idea to have a lawyer around already in case we need to actually lawyer up.”So that’s how Oikawa Tooru finds himself getting off the train with a half-full hot pink tumbler of lukewarm homemade coffee, brown Calvin Klein sunglasses hiding the rage in his equally brown eyes as he stomps his way to the police station, the dark lenses shielding every passing stranger from the ferocity in his gaze, only to accidentally stumble right into the arms of one irrationally handsome sergeant by the name of Iwaizumi Hajime the moment he enters the building.





	you and me and all the pretty things in between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pjkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pjkid/gifts).



> i took prompts on twitter and pj (to whom this fic is gifted) requested an iwaoi law enforcement au where one is a lawyer and one is a cop! 
> 
> my brain is 99% shiratorizawa when it comes to haikyuu!! so here's what happened when i tried to make that prompt a reality. it was still really fun to write tho! i love oikawa and yahaba and kyoutani, they're my favorite aoba johsai members. 
> 
> anyway — thanks for requesting, pj! i don't know if this is what you were expecting but here it is! 
> 
> you can see the rest of the prompt fills [**here!**](https://twitter.com/sleepwellbeasts/status/1141971178501754880)
> 
> p.s. i don't know a single thing about cops and lawyers that isn't from brooklyn 99 and criminal minds and like 10 episodes of law and order svu so just take this with a grain of salt lol

The call comes in at 4:27 a.m.

Oikawa rolls over in his bed, annoyance already building up in his chest, and presses the green answer button on his phone when he sees that it’s none other than Yahaba calling.

With sleep still bogging down his voice, he somehow manages to say, “This better be important or I’m cutting you out of my life and that’s a promise.”

“Hey, senpai.” And it’s in that moment that he knows something is wrong, because high and mighty Yahaba Shigeru only refers to him as senpai when he is a) kissing up b) under emotional duress or c) in some serious shit. “Kentarou and I are in a bit of a bind. Think you can come help us out?”’

So it’s serious shit, then.

He wipes at his eyes a bit, wearily responding with, “Shigeru-chan, it’s 4:27 in the morning.”

“Yeah, but you owe me at least fifteen favors.” Oikawa swears mentally because he’s not wrong and that’s even more annoying. “Consider this a cashing in. But I’m only cashing in on ten of them—I’ve done a lot of crap for you over the years. You _owe_ me.”

With a groan, he sits up, t-shirt riding up over his stomach. “Fine, fine. Ten favors? What’s going on? Where am I headed?”

Yahaba goes silent, which lets Oikawa know that this really truly is serious shit. His friend and former underclassman always, without fail, gives it to him straight. It’s a bit of a problem, really.

“Okay, so,” the other man says, voice slow, “don't freak out, but we got arrested and we’re at the Sendai Police Station. I don’t really know what’s going to end up going down, but I think it’s a good idea to have a lawyer around already in case we need to actually lawyer up.”

Now it’s Oikawa who falls silent.

The seconds tick by. They tick by, and they tick by, and finally he locates the wits to exclaim:

“You got _what_?!”

 

* * *

 

So that’s how he finds himself getting off the train with a half-full hot pink tumbler of lukewarm homemade coffee, brown Calvin Klein sunglasses hiding the rage in his equally brown eyes as he stomps his way to the police station, the dark lenses shielding every passing stranger from the ferocity in his gaze.

It’s two blocks away from the train station, a rather humble, five-story building with little to boast aside from the flashy, silver metal letters that announce it to the world as SENDAI POLICE. The journey, thus, is relatively quick. He throws the front glass double doors open, too tired and bothered to care about propriety, freshly ironed tan suit—well, he couldn’t exactly go out in public with a wrinkled jacket and trousers, now, could he, especially when he’s technically, sort of, etcetera about to represent two of his best friends for being idiots—clinging tight to his thin frame as he all but waltzes inside, shiny brown wingtips carrying him straight into—

The buffest arms he has ever had the privilege of feeling in his life.

(And that’s saying a lot, because he’s friends with _Kyoutani Kentarou_.)

Ah. Right. That’s why people take their sunglasses off when they’re inside.

So they can, like, see things.

He stumbles back a bit, whipping the glasses off and shoving them into his shoulder bag along with the tumbler, and is startled to find that not only is this man incredibly buff, but he’s obviously a police officer and also the most beautiful man—overall person, really—that he has ever seen. Lord help anyone else who has to wear that uniform, because _wow_ they can’t possibly hope to hold a candle to _that_.

“So sorry for my clumsiness,” Oikawa says, signature charming smile immediately gracing his features despite the fact that he’s dying inside for more reasons than one, and one of those reasons is the sheer and unbelievable attractiveness of the man standing before him. He even adds a little dramatic breath of a sigh for good flirty measure. “I must not be fully awake yet!”

The officer beholds him blankly. If he’s tired at all—given that it’s now 5:45 a.m. and that’s far too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday morning, please and thank you, Oikawa may be a lawyer who lives a life of routine but he still has common sense—there’s nothing that gives it away in his dark eyes and sculpted face. “Can I help you?”

That snaps him back to the business at hand. His mouth forms an _o_ , a little _aha!_ sounding off in the chambers of his mind. He might be in the presence of an actual god right now, but there are still his friends to tend to. “Actually, yes! I’m here for Yahaba Shigeru and Kyoutani Kentarou, might you be able to direct me to them?”

“Oh. Those two.” And really, that kind of says it all. What exactly have his two kouhai done this time? “They’re not minors, though. Are you family or…?”

“Lawyer, actually.” He offers him a smile to try and soften the implications of that, because he’s had his fair share of rocky encounters with law enforcement. “But I’m a good one—I don’t bite!”

Once again, he fails to get any sort of reaction from the man, save for the slightest hint of a twitch on his already displeased-looking frown of a mouth. “I doubt they’re going to need a lawyer. But since you’re already here, I guess I can take you to them.”

With that he turns and sets off past the receptionist’s desk and towards the main part of the building’s first floor, clearly expecting Oikawa to follow despite his wordless departure. So he speeds up to walk in time with him, quickly settling at his side and matching his quick pace, offering the slightly shorter man a friendly hand.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he tells him, mostly because he’s absolutely dying to know the other man’s name, he’s pretty sure he’ll have an aneurysm within the next five minutes if he doesn’t get a name to put to that gorgeous, radiantly stunning face. “Attorney at law, employed with Aobajohsai just three blocks down.”

The man doesn’t take his hand, keeping his gaze placed firmly ahead, but he does say, “That’s a big shot firm.”

And then, miraculously, he sighs and adds, “Sergeant Iwaizumi.”

 _Iwaizumi_. It feels like silk on the tip of his tongue. He wants to run his fingers over that name for days on end.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, and he doesn’t get a _likewise_ , all he gets is a grunt, but it’s enough.

He pipes up again, unable to help himself. “I hope those two haven’t been giving you too much trouble. They can be a bit of a handful.”

That gets Iwaizumi to look at him, annoyance clearly present in those stormy eyes. “They got arrested.”

There is an unspoken _duh_ accentuated within those words, like Iwaizumi can’t believe Oikawa is suggesting they haven’t already caused him trouble. Well, he supposes the man isn’t wrong.

He doesn’t get a chance to add anything else before Iwaizumi gestures at a far corner of the room they are fast approaching. “They’re over there.”

And what a sorry sight they are. Seated side by side, they look even worse than they would look apart. Kyoutani is barefoot, wearing only a white tank top and black sweatpants, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here and who can blame him; Yahaba, eyes covered by yellow heart-shaped sunglasses, is sitting with his arms crossed, a white feather boa draped around him, donning only a silk maroon bathrobe.

Whatever the hell they did, he’s almost sorry that they didn’t invite him. Yahaba _knows_ he’s the king of silk bathrobes. He’s the one who _gave_ him that silk bathrobe. Sure, he’s a lawyer, but he still likes to have _fun_.

Iwaizumi temporarily forgotten—at least partly, that is, now that he’s met the man he’s sure he’ll never be able to forget him, even if nothing happens between them he’s certain he’ll be on his deathbed and still thinking about those luscious, luscious arms—Oikawa rushes towards them. It’s Yahaba who notices him first, removing the sunglasses as he gets close. There’s another cop standing somewhat near them, likely supervising them. He has white hair with dark tips, and he nods at Iwaizumi as they approach.

Yahaba’s voice is far too casual for stakes as high as these. “Hey, senpai.”

“What the _hell_ did you two do.”

Not a question, a demand. Kyoutani gives him a half-hearted one-handed wave in form of greeting, and Yahaba just sighs.

“It’s just details now, really—”

“Oh, no, no, no. You woke me up in the middle of my absolutely not-to-be-compromised beauty sleep, so you’re going to tell me everything. No ifs, buts, or ands.” He comes to a stop in front of them, arms crossed and glare ready to commit murder at any given moment. “I mean, look at you two. Why are you wearing that?”

“Don’t act like you’re not into this look,” Yahaba says, and no, he’s not wrong, and yes, Oikawa is once again incredibly perturbed by this fact. But the younger man still sighs, now having the decency to look downwards, a little ashamed, clearly, and he says, “The prank war just got taken a little too far. You know, the one with my annoying neighbor, Shirabu Ken-whatever? He left cat shit on my front door mat, senpai. _Cat shit_. It was cute in an annoying way when we were sending each other boxes with exploding confetti and other childish stuff like that, but cat shit? Not to mention his dumb cat is always meowing at my door because he lets him roam around the apartment building and the guy always puts catnip in front of my door. Something had to be done, I had to stand my ground.”

With that overload of information coming his way, Oikawa only just now becomes (very) aware of the fact that the sergeant—dreamy, dreamy Iwaizumi—has come up to stand slightly behind him, and the other, lighter-haired cop has drifted away. The story being told, however, is much more important than that. Unfortunately.

“So what’d you do, then?” Yahaba avoids his gaze and Oikawa taps his foot impatiently. “What’d you do, Shigeru-chan?”

The mumble that emerges from the younger man is inaudible, and clearly that is enough to get a rise out of Iwaizumi, because the cop takes it upon himself to elaborate. “They hotwired Shirabu-san’s car and took it for a joyride around Sendai before ending up at one of those make-out points where kids drive out to. That’s how we found them—someone called in a public indecency tip.”

“You—you stole his car, Shigeru-chan?” Oikawa’s voice rises, high, and although part of him is actually rather impressed by the fact that they managed to pull that feat off at all, in any capacity, the lawyer in him has the (correct) instinct to reprimand him. He shakes his head, looking at Kyoutani. “You enabled that, Mad Dog-chan?”

“Enabled?” Yahaba straightens up, adjusting his boa haughtily. “Don’t get it twisted, this was Kentarou’s idea in the first place. We’re in this together for the long run, you know.”

“Really? You did?” That gets Kyoutani to look at him, finally, and he shrugs, which doesn’t satisfy Oikawa at all. “Why did you get involved in Shigeru’s prank war?”

Kyoutani looks at Oikawa like he’s an idiot. “He was messing with Shigeru.”

Yahaba leans back in his seat, satisfied. “See? We’re in this together. This is what a stable relationship looks like.”

And all Oikawa can do is glare at him as he says, “What part of this looks stable to you?”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t _look_ stable right now,” says Yahaba, tugging at his boa a bit self-consciously now, “but it _is_.”

Oikawa rubs at his temple, a deep sigh emitting from his throat, almost guttural, before he says, a bit more composed after the pause, “Ken-chan, things like this are supposed to be way behind you by now! Where did you even learn how to hotwire a car, of all things?”

“Senpai, it’s rude to bring up a man’s past,” Yahaba huffs, and all Kyoutani offers by way of an explanation is a muttered _muscle memory, can’t forget_.

Naturally.

“Well, it’s good to know that I’m a failure of a senpai,” he says, “if this is what you do without me around to rein you in.”

That earns him a snort from Kyoutani, because when has Oikawa even truly been able to rein the two of them in? Even when they were high schoolers and the now-lovers were, at all times, two seconds away from mutual simultaneous deaths, all he was able to do was keep it from getting (too) physical.

Sometimes, at least.

So of course it’s on Yahaba to verbally point this out, since the snort wasn’t enough. “You wouldn’t have been able to stop us. I was livid. Even Kentarou has never been able to get me this mad.” He pauses, thinly adding on, “I wouldn’t touch Shirabu with a ten-foot pole in this lifetime, but in another, the hate sex _might_ not be half-bad.”

The tortured look that Kyoutani gives Yahaba is enough to almost make Oikawa feel sorry for him. Almost. Yahaba shifts and pats Kyoutani’s cheek, and says, “Don’t worry, you’d be part of it.” Then he turns back to face Oikawa. “But don’t worry. That drama has passed now. I’ve had my catharsis.”

“Your catharsis got you arrested and, more importantly, dragged me out of bed at _fuck o’ clock_ , so maybe show a bit more shame.” Oikawa thinks, then tacks on, “Or at least pretend to.”

Yahaba shrugs, and perhaps he is getting ready to counter that. Then a cough interrupts them. Another cop—buffer than Iwaizumi, this is getting ridiculous,  although Oikawa is very sure that no one could have a better face than Iwaizumi, so that’s fine—has approached them, a piece of white printer paper in hand.

“I have updates on this situation,” he says, voice deep.

Iwaizumi seems to take that as his cue to leave—or escape, it depends on how one might choose to view the circumstances—and he claps the other cop on the shoulder as he does. “I’m off, then, Ushijima.”

Under his breath he mutters _good luck_ , which is not, in fact, quiet enough to escape Oikawa’s notice.

Ushijima, who is presumably also a sergeant, as his uniform bears the same decorations as that of Iwaizumi, says, “Shirabu-san will not be pressing charges, given that you agree to his list of conditions.”

The three of them go quiet, and then there’s a collective sigh of relief shared between them. It’s only a brief moment before Oikawa recognizes just what that means, though, and he points an accusatory finger at Yahaba.

“You had me come all the way here for nothing,” he says, “and now my sleeping schedule is ruined, and I’m going to be an ugly hag because of it. Thank you, my dear friend, for your consideration.”

Yahaba rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t for nothing. That hunk of a cop was staring at your ass, like, the entire time we were talking just now.”

Oikawa blinks at him, another trail of insults dying down on his tongue. He looks over his shoulder towards said stared-at ass, patting the fabric there lightly. “You really think so? These aren’t even my ‘showing off the cake’ trousers.”

“Am I ever wrong about these things?”

Fair enough. Ushijima coughs again, monotonous voice piping up with, “Would you like to hear the conditions?”

Now Yahaba shifts to look at the other cop, and says, “And you—look, Shirabu is staring at you even now, from all the way across the room. Maybe you should do something about that.”

Although Oikawa has half the mind to further (attempt to) quell down his friend, his less logical side wins. He shrugs at Ushijima. “Shigeru-chan is a sex expert. He has infinite knowledge about this.”

“I’m _not_ a sex expert,” protests Yahaba. “I’m a sex, relationship, and love advice columnist, and Shirabu clearly all wants all three of those with you. Also, I’ve overheard dozens of his phone conversations from my balcony, and he just loves going on about his hot gym buddy that he’s madly in love with and who is also a cop.”

Ushijima opens his mouth, then closes it, and appears to be pondering this when Kyoutani, gravely annoyed, says, “What are the conditions?”

That gets Ushijima back in order. His eyes flicker down at the paper. “Shirabu-san requests that you reimburse him twice over gas, pay for the car to be professionally cleaned twice, concede and allow him the title of ‘Prank War King,’ and move out of your apartment complex once your lease is up.”

“That’s not a terrible deal,” Oikawa points out, “given that you stole his car and all that.”

Yahaba nods. “Okay, sure. I mean, I’m technically the rightful winner, but Kentarou and I wanted to find a new place anyway since we’re moving in together.” Then something all too familiar flickers over his face, and he eyes Ushijima. “Hey, how about this, though—sit down with me for a minute, I’ll tell you how you can make things happen with Shirabu, and you can try to talk him into only having me pay for one cleaning instead of two?”

“That would be stepping out of line,” says Ushijima, folding the paper and placing it in his pocket. “These were Shirabu-san’s conditions.”

“So it’s _part_ of your job description to act as a liaison between lawbreakers and victims?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

The man seems to hesitate. “Shirabu-san is a good friend of mine.”

“Friend.” Yahaba sighs, shaking his head. “ _Friend_.”

Ushijima ponders, and then says, “You believe Shirabu-san views me as more than that?”

Yahaba nods. “Definitely.”

“Perhaps,” says Ushijima, “we can converse for a moment or two.”

“And while you do that,” Oikawa says, leaning forward to forcefully ruffle Yahaba’s hair, which has gone slightly curlier after a night out, “I am going to go get that Iwaizumi’s number. Ta-ta!”

He swaggers off, adjusting his tie as he does so, and he can hear the beginnings of what he can tell is going to be a very slow conversation between Yahaba and Ushijima; he looks over his shoulder and see confusion knitting itself into the cop’s thick eyebrows.

Ah, the woes of not so young love. It occurs to him that he’s on the eve of thirty. All the more reason to get Iwaizumi’s number while he still looks this damn good in a suit.

(Yes, even if it’s not the one that shows off his ass in the best ways, because apparently, this one still does the trick.)

Iwaizumi is seated at one of the many desks around the room, shiny nametag screaming SGT. IWAIZUMI HAJIME—and oh, Hajime, that would feel even nicer on his lips, uttering that name—and there’s another brunet of a man seated across from him, facing Kyoutani and Yahaba’s general direction, and the nametag on that desk reads SGT. USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI.

This must be the infamous Shirabu Kenjirou. For all the times that Oikawa has visited Yahaba’s apartment—he’s actually only lived there for the past seven months or so—he’s never had the (mis)fortune of running into him. Funny how life works out that way.

But Shirabu is hardly his main concern right now. He does a discreet breath test against his hand as he approaches (coffee-esque with hints of toothpaste, which will do, it’s better than morning breath-esque) and stands a little taller as he comes up to the desk.

“Sergeant,” he says, putting on a low voice, “thank you again for escorting me to my friends.”

Iwaizumi barely looks at him, just peers at him briefly before continuing to jot something down on a stiff pile of papers in front of him with a delicately-tipped pen. “That’s just part of my job.”

He leans against the desk now, one leg over the other as he twirls a finger in the air. “Of course, of course. Well, it appears that dear Shigure-chan and Ken-chan are off the hook now, thank goodness, so they’ll be out of your hair very soon!”

“So you, a lawyer, condone auto theft?”

That gives Oikawa pause. He feels his face warming. Idiot. “Not as a lawyer, but as their friend—” He stops himself. “They _were_ going to return it.”

Presumably.

Iwaizumi only grunts, so Oikawa adds, “At any rate, thank you for dealing with them.”

“That,” Iwaizumi says, “is also just part of my job.”

“Still, I apologize for them.” Oikawa leans further into the desk, hand grazing a cup holder of pens. “I know there are much more important things for cops to concern themselves with than a petty prank war.”

At last Iwaizumi looks at him, audibly sighing and capping his pen before putting it down. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Why are you apologizing for them? You’re not the one who stole a car and,” he waves a hand in the air, clearly too formal to refer to the other activities the dubious pair got up to in said car, “everything else.”

He blinks at the man, and then says, “Once a senpai, always a senpai, it appears. Even though they aren’t technically my kouhai anymore, I can’t help but feel responsible for—”

Then he leans in even further, and suddenly Iwaizumi’s coffee mug is in the seated man’s lap.

Along with its (room temperature, thank goodness) contents.

“Oh my god, sergeant, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa is half a second away from properly screeching when Iwaizumi’s hand flies in the air, a stop sign halting him, and the other man, in silence, simply sets the mug back on the desk and stands up, another sans words departure.

But Oikawa is not easily deterred. He sputters a string of nonsense as he follows, apology after apology, and Iwaizumi just says, “It’s fine.”

Oikawa continues following him anyway, right up until they get to the bathroom, and Iwaizumi doesn’t hold the door open for Oikawa.

(But it’s fine.)

Iwaizumi, still silent, begins gathering paper towels, and Oikawa says, “Let me help.”

The man shakes his head and Oikawa ignores that, continuing to provide assistance, moistening some of the paper towels alongside the silent man until finally Iwaizumi stops and heads to one of the stalls. Oikawa trails after him, head bowed slightly in shame. He holds out the wet paper towels and, thank goodness, the man takes them.

Just as Iwaizumi is about to close the bathroom stall, Oikawa bites his lip and holds out a hand to keep it from closing.

“Um,” he says, scratching his head with the other hand, “does this completely ruin my chances of getting your phone number?”

The man looks at him. And looks at him. And looks at him.

Then he closes the stall door without another word.

 _Right_ , Oikawa thinks, _hint taken_.

Sighing, he trudges off, sulking the entire way back to Yahaba and Kyoutani, who are still with Ushijima.

“You might think it’s all in the body language,” Yahaba is saying as Oikawa walks up to him, “but really, it’s all in the eyes. So that you’re going to have to pay attention to, especially with a guy like that.”

And Ushijima, nodding reverently at each word, is an almost laughable sight, but he doesn’t really feel like laughing right now.

“It’s a no-go, team,” he says, tragedy laced into his tone. “I spilled coffee on him and now he hates me.”

“We saw,” says Kyoutani, and Oikawa can’t help but bemoan this man’s habit of seemingly only choosing to use his rare words at times like these.

“You’ve had better moments,” adds Yahaba.

Seems like today just isn’t his day. Which is unfortunate, really, because he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror and his hastily-done hairdo actually makes him look _quite_ endearing. It’s a bit of a “I didn’t even have to put that much effort into it to look this good” type of thing, in a very literal sense.

This seems like his cue to leave, though, so he just shakes his head and says, “I’m going home and back to bed, thank you very much. And for the record, Shigeru-chan, this _does_ count as a cash in for fifteen favors!”

Yahaba frowns, but then his gaze softens as Oikawa adjusts his shoulder bag strap and makes to leave. “Thanks for this, Oikawa. I really do appreciate that you came.”

Kyoutani nods in agreement, and, well, he does love them, after all, so he musters up a smile and gives them a two-finger wave. “I know. Still counts as fifteen favors, though!”

He twirls around, heading back to the doors he came through, and it’s just as he is passing the receptionist desk that another cop, nearly as tall as him and sporting a rather unfortunate bowl cut head of black hair, comes into step with him.

“Hey,” he sees, bright and cheerful—too bright and cheerful, at this hour. “Sergeant Iwaizumi wanted me to give this to you.”

Oikawa’s heart nearly stops right then and there when he sees the paper being held out by the—man, but he gives off kid vibes—cop.

It’s a neon yellow sticky note, and on it is a phone number with _Iwaizumi Hajime_ signed underneath.

He takes it, breathing out a _thank you_ and the cop walks away after that, and he’s left standing there in the middle of everyone’s way, staring at the paper in awe.

And he can’t help himself, so he runs back to Iwaizumi’s desk, where the man has returned and reclaimed his seat, coffee stains blending into his black pants, and Oikawa’s eyes are as wide as his smile when he clutches the paper to his heart and announces, “You aren’t going to regret this! I’m going to take you on the best date, just wait and see.”

Iwaizumi looks at him wearily, but there’s something else there, too. Something that Oikawa can’t decipher yet, but something that he just knows he’ll get to know very soon. “You’re already making me regret this. Leave now or I’ll block your number.”

He just grins wider, turning around and tossing his head over his shoulder as he makes to leave again, this time for real. “I’ll call you later!”

For the record, he _does_ call him later.

**Author's Note:**

> i am usually on [**The Twitter(tm)**](http://www.twitter.com/sleepwellbeasts) screaming if anyone would like to be part of that mess 
> 
> at times i am also on [**The Tumblr(tm)**](http://www.antebellumdays.tumblr.com)


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